Crystal Explosion
by Celandine Midori
Summary: Scully's been pushed so many times....


Category: Post Ep Orison; angst, alternating Mulder & Scully PoVs  
Rating: intense PG-13.   
Archive: Think I'm going to stop you? Just tell me where. And Gossamer  
has my ok  
Disclaimer: And God came down and gave the surfer-god and his company  
two people. A man and a woman who were in love. A man and woman in   
serious denial. Then a girl got an idea, and the idea was made flesh   
and....aww hell. I don't own em.   
Spoilers: Orison (bet you didn't see that one coming), Wetwired. Minor   
references to others here and there.  
Notes: This is what happens when Carter writes an episode and decides  
not to finish it.   
Summary: Scully's been pushed so many times...  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Crystal Explosion  
By Celandine Midori   
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
It's the same.   
  
The same god that created the stars, the seas, and the saints  
created Donnie Pfaster.   
  
Now I know why Mulder picked organized religion as his thing not  
to believe.   
  
Most people have arguments over religion; Mulder and I have minor  
wars. He's actually been pretty good on this case.   
  
This time, aside from a few remarks early on, he hasn't made any  
large comments on religion, except where applicable. And the major  
attacks on my belief system haven't made an appearance.   
  
My Bible is sitting on my lap, it's light weight grounding me  
somehow. I close my eyes, seeing with my fingertips as I trace the   
lines imprinted on the black cover. It still amazes me how a book   
made out of gossamer thin paper that has the same black and red as   
your standard Chinese take-out menu can hold as much meaning as it   
does.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
She's just sitting there, with her eyes vacant. Looking but not   
seeing.  
  
Scully hasn't moved for a few minutes, except for her fingers  
stroking the cover of her Bible. Even that is a steady rhythm that   
requires no thought.  
  
But she's so tense. It's written in every line of her body. Even  
her jaw is clenched.   
  
I've never seen her like this before, and I'm not really sure  
what to do. Oxford didn't cover this.   
  
So I'm winging it.  
  
I told her that if she packed, we could leave. It seems like   
she's not about to, so I might as well take the initiative and pack  
for her.   
  
Finding her duffel bag in the back of her closet, I turn to her   
dresser, wary of the broken glass. I grab some socks in the top   
drawer, when I notice Scully's reflection in a shard of the mirror  
that remained along the edge of the frame. She's staring at me.   
  
I don't think she realizes she's doing it though.   
  
I bend down, placing the socks in the bag and stand up, to find  
that she's turned back again and closed her eyes.  
  
She seems lost in thought. I don't want to interrupt her, so I  
buy her as much time as I can by filling her bag with as much as it  
can hold.   
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
The gentle weight of Mulder placing his hands on top of mine  
prompts the opening of my eyes. I thread our fingers together and  
give him what I hope to be a smile. Either it was, or he appreciates  
my effort, because he gives me one in return, along with a squeeze of  
my hands. My eyes dart to the floor next to him, where my overnight  
bag is. It's stuffed to the point it must have taken a real effort to  
close it.   
  
He turns his head to glance at the bag, then looks back at me.   
"Didn't think you'd mind me packing for you. You were kind of out of  
it, partner."  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that. Thank you."  
  
"No problem," he replies, giving my hands a final squeeze before  
getting to his feet.   
  
"Ready to blow this ice-cream stand?"  
  
"I don't do ice cream Mulder. You know that." That earns me a   
chuckle.  
  
"But 'ready to blow this non-fat tofutti rice dreamsicle stand'  
just doesn't have the same ring to it."  
  
"Let's just go Mulder."  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
The trip to my apartment is silent. Scully hasn't said anything  
except for a monosyllabic answer here and there when I directly ask  
her a question. She must be thinking about what happened. I know that  
in the past, when I've killed someone, it's on my mind all the time.   
Sometimes it insinuates itself into my dreams, raping my sleep.   
  
I can't really believe that Scully killed someone today.  
  
She's killed before though. It comes with the job.  
  
Like when she shocked Leonard Betts with the defibrillator. She  
was shaken after that. I tried getting her to talk about it, but she  
adroitly sidestepped my questions again and again until I forgot   
about them when she told me about her cancer. She took a few days off  
and spent them with her mother. When she came back, she seemed normal.  
A little quieter, a little more introspective for a while perhaps, but  
basically Scully.   
  
Maybe she was just like that then because of the implications  
about cancer. Come to think of it, I'm not too sure...   
  
But today was different. Today she killed an unarmed suspect that  
was in my custody.   
  
There was no way I was going to let the son of a bitch loose.  
  
Scully knew that.   
  
And she also knew she was going to shoot Pfaster. That means it  
was premeditated. As much as I don't want to think that, it was   
obvious when I looked in her eyes.   
  
Her eyes.  
  
Normally they're a serene blue, with a light that comes from  
intelligence. Or they sparkle, dancing with humor at one of my better  
jokes.  
  
But the eyes of Dana Katherine Scully are not the dark, flat  
things that I saw today.   
  
They were so...empty. The eyes of a madwoman.   
  
But Scully can't be mad.  
  
Can she?   
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
When we get to Mulder's apartment, he seems preoccupied. He  
robotically turns off the car, but makes no move to get out. I reach  
over to gently shake him into awareness and his shoulder jumps under  
my hand.   
  
He gives me a smile that his eyes aren't in, and he asks me if   
I'm ready to go inside.   
  
He's very tentative. Hesitant. As if he's unsure of how to act  
around me. Like he thinks I'm fragile, or could explode at the   
slightest jostle.   
  
Then it occurs to me. Mulder's afraid.  
  
Of me.   
  
That floors me. There have been only a handful of times that  
Mulder has actually been frightened of me.   
  
And I'm not even holding a gun on him this time. I was possessed  
then. Or controlled. Paranoid out of my mind from watching too much TV.  
  
This time I don't have an excuse.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
I turn back towards Scully after sliding the deadbolt home and am  
just about to ask her if she wants something to drink, but she starts  
speaking before I begin.  
  
"Mulder, I'm pretty sore. I think I'm going to take a hot shower,  
then take a nap, ok?"  
  
I nod, privately amazed that Scully is going into the bathroom  
willingly after what almost happened today. "Want me to bring you  
some aspirin?"  
  
She hesitates for a second before replying. "Yeah. That'd be   
nice."  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
I'm taking off my socks when Mulder enters the bathroom with a  
glass of water which he sets on the counter. He opens the medicine  
cabinet and produces the bottle of aspirin, shaking it before placing  
it next to the water. By the noise it makes, there are only a few  
pills left.  
  
"I'm nearly out, but if you need more I'll get some."  
  
"It's alright Mulder. I'll be fine."  
  
"The blue towel hanging on the rack is clean," he says, gesturing  
with a nod of his head.   
  
"Thanks Mulder."   
  
His eyes turn examining, scanning my face. "Are you sure you're  
ok Scully?"  
  
"I'll be fine Mulder," I repeat. "As soon as I get clean,   
everything will be alright," I tell him, before herding him out the  
door, closing it between us.  
  
I lean against the shut door listening to Mulder walk away,   
hearing the creak of leather as he sits down.  
  
As soon as I'm clean, everything will be alright again.   
  
I walk over to the shower, and turn the water on as hot as it   
will go. Turning back towards the counter, I swallow the pills and   
the water in two gulps before stripping.  
  
The water is burning when I enter the shower.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
I hear Scully turn on the shower and I sigh.  
  
She's keeping something from me. I could see it in her face, but  
I couldn't clearly read her expression. That's odd though. After   
eight years, I thought that I had every 'Scully Look' categorized by   
now, but this one confuses me.  
  
I'm too tired to think properly. Maybe I should take a nap too.  
  
I lie down on my couch, inhaling the familiar scent of leather,  
not really expecting sleep to come for me.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
I keep scrubbing, but I don't feel clean.   
  
I can still feel Pfaster touching me, his hands staining my skin  
with something so vile I can't put a name to it. Feel it seeping   
under the surface layer, slowly ingraining itself. I know it's there.  
Mulder saw it. I could see the revulsion in his eyes when he   
scrutinized me before I shut the bathroom door. I need to get it off,  
but the soap isn't working.  
  
My skin is at a stage past pink, almost vermilion from the   
combined efforts of my scrubbing and the intensity of the heat of the  
water. But I'm not clean.  
  
I need something stronger.  
  
Turning off the now chill water I step out of the shower, leaving  
a puddle on the cool tile floor that I will mop up as soon as I am  
clean. I look around Mulder's bathroom for something that will get   
this filth off of me and my eyes light up when I see it on the counter.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
Black.  
  
Nothing but darkness.  
  
Whimpering, coming from above me. High above me.  
  
Blinding spotlight appears, and when the spots of dancing   
light leave my vision, a pillar is revealed. From my vantage point,  
the top is shrouded in darkness. I take a few steps back, trying to  
make out the figure perched on the top, when I realize that it's   
not a pillar after all.   
  
It's a baby's toy. The stand where you place the colored   
stacking rings and could push, but it wouldn't fall over, until   
there was too much force. Weebles wobble but they don't fall down.  
  
And Scully was on top of it, standing tensed, looking like she  
is braced for a brutal blow.   
  
Before I could call out to her, a man walks out from the   
darkness behind me and shoves the base of the platform, making it  
sway. As her cries rise in volume and urgency, he turns toward me,  
and I can make out his face. It's her father, looking upset at what  
he's just done to his little girl. However, he seems confident that  
it was something that had to be done. He walks into the void,   
before I can ask him what he has done and why he has done it.  
  
I'm frozen in place, and I see the scenario repeated time   
after time. Duane Barry. Melissa. Clyde Bruckman. The twisted   
parade continues on and on, always the same. Kevin Kryder. Gerry   
Schnauz. Leonard Betts. Some look sad, some perversely happy to be  
pushing the pedestal that Scully is on, making it sway more each   
time. Emily. Gibson Praise. Diana Fowely. Increasing the strength  
and frequency of her cries, making her perch more uncertain time   
and time again. Alfred Fellig. Phillip Padget. The Smoking Bastard.   
  
And I can't move. I'm left helpless, only able to watch these   
people from our past torment Scully, trying to make her fall.  
  
Finally, Pfaster takes his place at the base of the platform,   
and I see him brace himself, and shove.  
  
Scully's feet slip out from under her and she falls harshly to  
her knees, with her hands clutching the pillar to steady herself.   
Even from this distance, I can see tears trickling down her cheeks  
unnerving me. Scully never cries.  
  
Before Pfaster leaves, he looks at me expectantly.  
  
As he walks into obscurity I move for the first time, taking  
his place in front of the stand. She looks at me, and seems reduced  
to an animal, on her hands and knees. Her eyes are imploring me to   
save her, not to topple her shaky perch, but I don't have a choice.  
My arms bend slightly, and I push.   
  
Scully slides backwards off the top, screaming for me.   
  
I bolt upright, feeling sticky from the rapidly cooling   
sleep-induced sweat and swing my legs over the side of the couch.  
Leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, I grind the heels of my   
hands into my eyes, trying to rub out the images of my dream. Of   
Scully looking at me, trusting me to save her.   
  
I slide my fingers down my face, and steeple them with my chin   
resting on my thumbs, and I'm haunted by the image still imprinted in  
my mind. Scully on her hands and knees, staring at me with feral eyes,  
relying on me to save her.  
  
The psychologist in me catches the symbolism of the dream fairly  
quickly. It's a manifestation of my guilt about my inability to save   
Scully time and time again. Not surprising really. I've had many   
others in a similar vein for a few years now.  
  
This is one of the stranger ones though. Usually they're more   
straightforward. Scully being separated from me, yelling for help  
that I am unable to give her.  
  
But this time I have a luxury that I'm normally not permitted. I  
have a living breathing Dana Scully in my apartment that I can check  
on, to prove to myself that she's fine.  
  
I get to my feet, and while heading quietly to my bedroom an   
unbidden thought flits through my mind. Something about my dream   
doesn't make sense.  
  
I *did* save Scully today.  
  
So why did I have a dream that I didn't?  
  
I push the thoughts from my mind and open the bedroom door   
carefully, so that I don't wake her incase she's already asleep.  
  
She isn't in there.  
  
Before I start to worry, I notice the crack of light emanating  
from underneath my bathroom door.  
  
I walk up to it and knock lightly with a knuckle.  
  
No response.  
  
I try again. "Scully?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Scully? I'm coming in," I say, opening the door slowly.  
  
My eyes scan the counter, and I briefly wonder where the glass of  
water is.  
  
Fully opening the door I step inside.  
  
Scully is kneeling with her back towards me, not acknowledging me  
and dripping on the floor. The puddle she's creating doesn't bother   
me.  
  
The piece of glass she clutches in her right hand does though.  
  
Before I can ask her what she's doing, she grips the shard   
tighter, causing little trickles of blood to emerge. She holds the  
glass at an angle, firmly pressing it against her skin, and drags it  
down her arm.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Streaks of scarlet emerge instantly, the blood smearing on her   
skin, dribbling down her arm to mix with the water to form a   
darkening pink puddle around her.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
I can feel it coming off of me. The stain that Pfaster left is   
leaving. I want to cry in joy, but I have other matters to attend to.  
  
My arm is searing with pain, sending a heat throughout my body.   
That's good. Heat cleans things, burns them away.  
  
I'm finally becoming clean.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
  
She repositions her right hand at the top of her arm, preparing   
to repeat the process.  
  
Before she can, I'm on the floor behind her grabbing the piece of  
glass and throwing it against the wall.  
  
It shatters into a million smaller pieces in a crystal explosion,  
leaving a pink smear on my wall that makes my stomach heave.  
  
I grab Scully's slick wrists, trying to avoid touching the gouges  
in her arm and hand.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
"What are you doing?!" I shriek at him, struggling to escape the   
hold he has on my wrists. "Don't touch me!! I'm not clean!"  
  
I'm not clean Mulder! Don't you understand that? If you keep  
touching me, you will become as filthy as I am! Dammit Mulder, just  
stop!  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
She's fighting me, squirming in my grasp, wailing like a   
desperate thing. I react by tightening my grip on her wrists.  
  
"Don't stop me Mulder! I'm just getting clean! Just let me get  
clean again," she pleads, hysterical tears creeping into her voice.   
"It's in me Mulder," she cries desperately, throwing herself   
backwards against my chest. "Just let me get it out!!"  
  
I find my voice. "Get what out Scully?"  
  
"The stain! Can't you feel it?"   
  
She bucks again, using the momentum of her backward thrust to   
propel herself forward. Her wrists are slick enough with water and  
blood to make my fingers lose their grip. Freed, she lunges away   
from me.  
  
I grope blindly behind me for the door, and throw it shut.  
  
I'm not letting Scully out of here like this.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
The sound of the door slamming makes me whirl around, and my hair  
stinging as it slaps my face in wet clumps. The room sways for a   
second, then steadies. And my arm burns.   
  
My...arm...burns...  
  
My arm...  
  
I look down slowly, then back up at Mulder.  
  
What have I don...  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
I dart across the space between us to catch her when she faints.  
I almost slipped in the puddle of Scully's...Oh Lord. *Don't* think   
about that Mulder. Not now. She needs you.  
  
Scully lays limp and cold in my arms.  
  
I pat her face gently. "Scully? Come on Scully wake up!"  
  
Damn it, she's not listening to me.  
  
"Scully you have to wake up! *You're* the doctor here, not me!"  
  
No response.  
  
Weebles wobble but they don't fall down.  



End file.
